


Good Morning, Captain

by raunchyandpaunchy



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst and Porn, Dom/sub, Face Slapping, M/M, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rimming, Rope Bondage, Sexual Roleplay, Smoking, Smut, Spanking, Verbal Humiliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-26
Updated: 2019-07-26
Packaged: 2020-07-20 10:29:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19990663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raunchyandpaunchy/pseuds/raunchyandpaunchy
Summary: The gift that keeps on giving.





	Good Morning, Captain

**Author's Note:**

  * For [spiney](https://archiveofourown.org/users/spiney/gifts).



> An extremely belated happy birthday to the lovely [spiney](https://archiveofourown.org/users/spiney), who this gift fic is for. I'm so sorry it's over two months late (eep), but horny, angst-filled thieves with a penchant for sailors and bad decisions apparently take time. Who knew? 
> 
> For anyone else new to this particular, admittedly niche pairing--this fic is based on two things! Spiney's work, especially Fun, and Other Dangerous Pursuits (or their relationship/dynamic, anyway), and [Topsy's](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thanatopsiturvy) birthday gift to Spiney, which is [here](https://www.pillowfort.social/posts/740450) (heads up--NSFW art) and it is incredible and I've just been staring at it since they showed me. ANYWAY. Check out both their fics, bc they're so so good, and Topsy's art, which speaks for itself.
> 
> And go get converted to Mercer Bastard Frey like I did. ;)

The waking world began to slowly fade back into focus as Mercer shook off the last vestiges of sleep. The soothing, rhythmic rock of the ship, like being cradled gently in a mother’s arms; the low, even breathing of the man next to him. Furs tickling his neck. He lifted his arm to scratch the offending itch, only to feel the strain of rope against his limbs.

_ Fucking Jon. _

“Quite the predicament you’ve got yourself in this time, thief.” Mercer’s eyes flashed open to see Jon splayed next to him, furs thrown aside to display him lazily working his cock. “Wonder how you’re going to get yourself out of this one.”

The corner of Mercer’s mouth twitched. “Sure you’ve got some ideas.”

If Jon had any, he kept them to himself. Just continued giving his cock long, slow strokes like the fucking tease he was, skin pulling taut over his balls as he drew the foreskin over his head, flushed and leaking. Mercer’s mouth watered.

“Don’t seem to be in a hurry to escape,” Jon eventually said, eyes glimmering with malice.

Mercer shrugged. “Don’t seem in a hurry to free me.” He knew exactly the game Jon was playing, but he’d be damned if he was going to give him the satisfaction of caving so easily.

The smile pulling at the corners of Jon’s lips spread across his face, indulgent and predatory, and Mercer tried not to tense at the expression. “Shame,” he said, hand still working himself over. “Man like you, thought you might have had a bit more fight. Thought you might have tried to make a break for it.” Stared Mercer down, almost sneering. Daring him to react.

“You didn’t exactly tie the knots loose, Captain.”

Jon ignored the remark, licking his lips with a subdued sort of hunger. “Now that I’ve got you all bound in my quarters, maybe I’ll just have to make use of you, hmm?” He pulled the covers aside, his eyes raking over Mercer’s exposed body.

Mercer looked down, saw the bundle of red silk knotted at his cock, and couldn’t help but grin. “Did you tie yourself a bow here, Captain?”

“Someone’s got to make you look presentable.”

Mercer couldn’t help the scoff that came from him. He looked back up at Jon, taunt poised on his tongue. “Didn’t think you’d go for something so… ostentatious.”

“Going to look a lot less ostentatious when you’ve made it filthy,” Jon replied, voice low. “Leaking and dripping all over it, like the desperate slut you are.” 

A wretched noise rent itself from the back of Mercer’s throat, and fuck, he should be annoyed at himself for giving the man this much power, this much leverage already. But then Jon licked a long, slow stripe up his shaft and took the head of his cock into his mouth, and any irritation he’d had dissipated. 

Jon took his cock like it wasn’t even an effort, head bobbing up and down with a fervour that momentarily knocked the breath from Mercer’s lungs. His lips clung to Mercer’s shaft, the gliding heat of him overwhelming, and Mercer was almost angry at how good the man was, how he was making him come undone without even breaking a sweat. An obscene slurp came from Jon as he took him further in, cock breaching his throat, and Mercer strained against the rope as he took what he was given. It was too good, and nothing this good could last forever. There was no way Jon would let it, and that knowledge alone made Mercer tremble, struggling not to thrust into Jon’s hot, slick mouth.

His body got the better of him, ropes allowing him that one small movement that brought Mercer closer to the release his body craved, then Jon’s hands were on his hips, pressing him down as his mouth pulled off him. Licked a hot, wet stripe down his shaft, lapping at the saliva pooling on his balls.

“Look.” Jon nodded to the spit-sodden ribbon, expression contemptuous. “Filthy already.”

Something cutting curled on Mercer’s tongue, but he didn’t have time to say it before Jon rolled him over, shoulders pressing into the bed, furs brushing against his cheek. Mercer shuddered, the loss of contact like being thrown overboard, the absence of Jon even for a second leaving him bereft. And then he was back again, hands grasping at the flesh of his arse, spreading him wide, tongue rolling wet and warm against his entrance. Circling, slowly coaxing inward, thumbs pressing deeper into his buttocks as he kneaded. Beard scratching against his skin with every movement, and fuck, it was so good, so absurdly luxurious and unearned, there was no way this was going to last—

“Fuck,” Mercer moaned into the mattress underneath, “what did I do to deserve this?” 

He’d tried to play it off like he was being tortured— _ what did I do to deserve being tied up and teased _ —but they both knew what he was really asking. Jon hummed contemplatively, grinding his tongue against Mercer’s hole before withdrawing. Ran his calloused hands across Mercer’s arse before leaning up, his cock pressing tauntingly along the cleft of his buttocks.

“Not for you to decide what you deserve,” Jon said, gripping the rope with one strong hand, running another across Mercer’s behind. “That’s my job.” Kneaded at the taut flesh of his arsecheek, nails digging in just enough to make him tense.

Down came the first strike, that beautiful white-hot searing flash of retribution that made heat swell in Mercer’s gut, made his blood thrum and his cock throb. Then another, and a ragged, feral sound came from Mercer—the closest he’d get to thanking Jon without being prompted. He slumped into the bed, unable to keep upright without his arms, desperately trying not to rut against the bedsheets for some small semblance of release.

The next smack was noticeably harder, heat pulsing through the abused flesh after the sting of contact, and an involuntary shudder rolled through Mercer’s body, driving him further into the sheets.  _ Fuck. _

“Look at you, grinding against the bed like an animal. Have you no restraint, thief?”

Mercer grinned, all teeth, saliva trailing from the corner of his mouth. “Only the ones you’ve tied me in, Captain.”

Jon pulled his hips upward, back on his knees, arse flush against his erect cock. Spread Mercer’s legs wide, grabbed his buttocks again, and fuck, he was back, lapping at his entrance like he was fucking starved. Hummed happily, then pulled away slightly, his breath hot against the saliva cooling on Mercer’s skin.

“Guess I’ll have to teach you, then.”

It took every inch of Mercer’s willpower not to grind into Jon’s face, not to fight against his binds and beg and moan and debase himself like the desperate slut he was. Took more when Jon wrapped his hand around Mercer’s cock, stroking it in tandem with the practiced, languorous movements of his tongue, smearing the precum dripping from his tip across his length. All Mercer could do was pant and shudder as Jon worked him over, drooling into the furs underneath.

Felt himself beginning to come apart, gibberish spilling from his lips as he implored Jon to give him what he wanted, needed. Bucked into Jon’s hand, felt the heat build deep inside him, fevered and hungry and desperate.

“Fuck,” he whined, beyond the point of caring how wrecked he sounded. “Please, Captain.”

The vibrations of Jon’s moan reverberated through him, shaking him to his bones, every last nerve in his body fraught as the rope bit into his skin. They held him tight, caressed him, pulled him closer, just like Jon was; caged between hemp and hand and tongue, the pretty silken bow tied tight around his cock, keeping him on the precipice of everything he’d ever wanted and  _ shit, _ how could he make a mockery of it all when Jon had him like  _ this _ —

“Tell me what you want, thief.”

Mercer exhaled, heavy and shuddering. “Want—” Fuck, the bastard’s hand wasn’t stopping, and he could feel his balls hitch as Jon pulled the words from him— “Want your—fuck, I want your cock, Captain.”

Jon’s hand slowed to a stop. “And what makes you think you’re going to get it?”

“Doubt you’d have trussed me up like a whore if you didn’t want to fuck me like one,” Mercer responded, shameless, sucking the saliva back into his mouth. Bait, if Jon wanted to take it. 

The hands that gripped his ropes and tossed him onto his back confirmed he did want to take it. Jon stared down at him, eyes ablaze and cheeks flushed, the man’s cock tracing slick trails across the hair of his stomach. “Could just as easily fuck your smart mouth.” The rumble of his voice and the threat inherent sent a frisson of excitement straight to Mercer’s groin. “Saves me the hassle of having to beat you into submission.”

Mercer couldn’t help himself. Felt the warm wave of rebellion wash through him, wholly satisfying. “You fucking love the hassle, Captain.” Built up, something raw and visceral and petty, bubbling up from under the surface. “That’s what really gets you off. Getting to—”

Jon slapped him hard across the face, and the impact momentarily took his breath away. 

“Slow fucking learner, aren’t you,” Jon snarled, something unhinged and wild glinting in his eyes. His hand struck down again, layering over the hot sting of the first slap, the pain building into something grotesque and euphoric. “And you’re not wrong—I do get off on beating you senseless. But that doesn’t mean I have to get you off while I’m at it.” His mouth curled into something between a smile and a sneer, eyes raking across Mercer. “Maybe I’ll just beat you black and blue, then spend myself all over your bruised body.” His thumb traced over Mercer’s cheekbone, hand running down to his throat. “I bet you’d beg me to do it, too.”

The bastard knew he would—knew every depth of him, the dark, ugly corners he didn’t permit anyone else to see. Jon brought them all to light, stripped him bare, made him debase himself. Broke him down and built him back up, and that was just how Mercer liked it.

“Please,” Mercer said, contrition and derision roiling in his guts. “Pretty please with a cherry on top, Captain. Do whatever the fuck you want with me.”

It was as sincere a begging as Jon was going to get, and he grinned, teeth gleaming white and dangerous in the lamplight. “Oh, I intend to.” 

Mercer was rolled back onto his front, his shoulders straining against the rope. The sound of a bottle being uncorked came from somewhere behind him, and he felt the cold, slick drizzle of oil against his entrance, sloppy and obscene, probably dripping all over the furs after tracing its way down his balls. Waited for Jon to work him open with his fingers, unnecessary, teasing, but instead felt the hard press of his cock, stretching him wide and wringing a guttural moan from his throat.

“What,” Jon said, voice heated, “no smart comment?” Pulled back out, only to drive back home, crotch flush with Mercer’s arse. “Shame.”

He gripped his hips, grinding against him. Picked up the pace, and soon the only thing Mercer could hear was the slapping of flesh on flesh as Jon fucked him into the mattress, utterly ruthless in the pursuit of his pleasure. His cock rubbed up against the furs, the sensation and friction delivering pain and pleasure in amounts he couldn’t parse. Just wanted more, release, didn’t know if he wanted it to hurt deep and fast and ugly like he always did, or if he wanted the all-consuming glow of pleasure instead, warm and enveloping and shimmering-gold—

He just needed something, anything.

“Please, Captain,” Mercer panted, wrecked, “need to come.”

Jon didn’t stop, just kept fucking him hard and fast and intense, entirely too much and yet nowhere fucking near enough. “Go on then,” he snarled in his ear, a kind of deranged amusement in his voice. “I’m not stopping you.” Gripped his hip harder, thrusting into him with reckless abandon, and leaned down, sweat soaked where their bodies met. 

Every inch of his senses were consumed by Jon—the scent of him, all salt and sea and the life of a sailor; his strong frame pressed against him, beard and breath tickling his ear. His free hand tugged at the ribbon around Mercer’s cock as his other held him steady, rutting against him and into him, and with one motion pulled it loose, pulled him undone, broke him from the inside out.

It tore through him like a fissure; some great schism of mind and body, aimless and drifting and high on an alchemical cocktail of his body’s own creation while his corporeal form lay boneless, his orgasm cooling and sticking to the furs under him. His fists clenched and unclenched of their own volition, arms still held in place by rope, and he felt like that was the only thing still holding him together, anchoring him, and he would have laughed if he wasn’t so busy sobbing and gasping for breath—

“You break so pretty for me, thief.” Jon held him between hip and shoulder, growls building low in his throat, something more animal than human. “So— _ fucking _ —”

Jon’s hips stuttered, nails digging indents into Mercer’s flesh as he came inside him, hot and hard and pulsing. Kept rutting into Mercer until he couldn’t, then pulled out, the warm spill of the man’s seed vivid and slick, burning against Mercer’s thigh.

“Going to free you now,” Jon said. It wasn’t a question, but Mercer still acknowledged it as such.

One expert pull and he was free, the imprint of rope the only evidence of what had occurred.  _ Sailors. _ He stretched out, sitting upright.

“So.” Jon handed him a bottle of mead and his cigarette pouch—a ritual that had become so familiar to them both it tugged at Mercer uncomfortably. “Are we going to discuss any of that?”

Mercer pulled a cigarette from his sleeve, narrowing his eyes at Jon. “Now why would you ruin a perfectly good fuck by asking that question, Captain?”

Jon raised his hands in what Mercer was sure he thought was a placating gesture. “All right,” he said, leaning over to grab a box of matches, striking one against the rough side. “Just asking.” Lit his cigarette for him, holding the match to the end as Mercer took in that first, sweet draw.

Mercer exhaled, the haze of smoke and post-orgasm serving as a comfortable sort of barrier. “How long did it take you to set this up?"

“Not too long,” Jon said, lighting up a cigarette of his own. “Ropework was easy, especially when you fell asleep. Ribbon took a little more work.” Took a long, languorous pull, and even fucked out and spent like Mercer was, it still made something stir inside him.

He took another drag, letting the draw linger in his lungs just a little too long. “Didn’t think you were going to let me go, for a minute.” Didn’t really know why he said it, but he hated that he had, despised the way his voice sounded raw and vulnerable.

“Told you, Mercer.” Jon rolled the cigarette in his fingers, gazing at him evenly. “I’ll decide what you deserve.”

This time, the words carried a different sort of weight. Careful, rather than commanding. Pensive, almost. Something roiled in Mercer, wholly offended at the very idea, but a much larger part of him just felt… tired. Limbs that wanted to rest rather than grind some immovable object to dust, a mind that wanted to seek any sliver of respite it could. And that was what Jon offered. 

He could never really be made whole, made right. There’d be parts of him missing, wounds that would always fester and gape and never, ever heal. But if he could be broken down and tied back together…

Maybe that would suffice.

**Author's Note:**

> A massive thanks to Topsy for beta reading this for me! You are a star. <3
> 
> Thoughts? Opinions? Keysmashes? Please feel free to leave any and all below, because they're much appreciated. <3


End file.
